


Ride Like It's 1977

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Series: Porn for Championships [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: June smutfest, M/M, Open Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ritchie gives Carts a free pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride Like It's 1977

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [dickieorpik's](http://dickieorpik.tumblr.com/) prompt: "Jeff Carter/Tyler Toffoli, being ridden" for the June smutfest.

Jeff's spent a long time shedding the 'lazy' moniker he was saddled with after the Philly-Columbus debacle. Three years, two Cups, and a Gold Medal later, the media debate "the man Jeff Carter's become" in surprised, slightly-suspicious tones and Pierre tends to ask questions like, "why are you a different player than you were in Columbus?" or "what motivates you?" as if that very question isn't motivation enough.

There isn't space for laziness on a Darryl Sutter team. In fact, it's scrawled on a white board, under 'selfishness' and 'self-doubt,' as the three things that the Kings check at the door to their practice facility in El Segundo. Darryl and Dean have given Jeff a second chance, just as they have so many of the Kings players, and Jeff's not about to let them down.

On the ice, at least.

In bed, though, Jeff kind of likes to lie back and let everyone else do the work. It's partly because by mid-season his body is tired and sex normally follows a few beers; it's mainly because he thinks it's hot to watch someone fall apart around him, to have the power to, and the proof that he does, do that to another person.

Most days, Mike's on board with Jeff's power play. In fact, Jeff's pretty sure that, secretly, Mike gets off on surrendering himself to Jeff as much as Jeff does. 

After their second Cup win, though, as the night's giving in to dawn and even the most diehard fans are starting to trail out of the North End Bar and Grill, Mike leans into Jeff's shoulder. "I'm too tired tonight."

It's been a long time since they've used the phrase, but Jeff knows what it means; remembers, with a long, hot pulse of arousal, how he used to wait for that queue, crave it, and the free pass it granted him.

Jeff hasn't wanted a free pass in a long time.

"I'm pretty exhausted, too," Jeff agrees, dropping his hand to squeeze at the top of Mike's thigh. "Think I'm gonna go home, nap, before we do this all over again."

Jeff winks at him, but Mike frowns. "That's not what I mean."

Jeff shrugs. "I know."

"I want you to use it." Mike's eyes are dark, and, while Jeff feels off-balance with emotion and adrenaline and alcohol, Mike is focused, on him, on what Jeff needs. "I _want_ you to," he repeats, as if the change in emphasize means everything and, Jeff supposes, it does.

Jeff glances around them. There's a girl at the bar, blond, tall, ankles wobbly on heels three inches too-high, exactly the type Jeff used to choose in Philly. He nods at her as he asks, "Who?"

Mike follows his gaze, and shakes his head. "This is your night, Cartsy, think bigger."

"Bigger, huh?" Jeff scans the bar, stopping on the guy at the end, flexing his knuckles around a beer, too large for his stool and definitely too large for his jeans.

Mike laughs. "Not your type."

Jeff sort of wants to say _you're my type_ , but his dick's also starting to get into this. He squeezes his hand even higher on Mike's thigh, and Mike sighs, arching, just slightly, into the touch. "Thought you were tired," Jeff leans forward, blowing, purposefully, against the pulse point of Mike's neck.

"Mmm," Mike murmurs, pressing into Jeff's shoulder. "Not as young as I used to be."

"Me neither."

"I don't know." Mike nods towards the Kings' kids table, where Toffee is passing around salt and lemon slices and Jonesy is, inexplicably, stripping his shirt off. "You kept up with the kids just fine. I think you should be rewarded for that."

Jeff straightens, his knees bumping into the table and rattling the glasses. "Team?" Team's never been on the table before.

"Special occasion."

"Huh."

"A line with 51 points deserves something special, no? Who do you think-?"

"Toffee," Jeff says, without thinking, without even letting Mike finish and, yeah, okay, maybe Jeff's been thinking about this a little.

Mike raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning up, as he says, loud enough for the rest of the table to here, "Well, I'm pretty tired, so I'm gonna call it a night. Breakfast at 11 at Brownie's?" 

It's meant as a blessing and Jeff watches, blankly, as Mike says his goodbyes, holding Toffee extra long and whispering something in his ear that has Toffee blushing and stammering. Mike claps Toffee on the shoulder, winks at Jeff, and leaves them, tables apart, starring openly at each other.

Jeff's the veteran here, as he has been all season, and he lets whatever Mike had said sink in for a long moment, until Toffee's squirming in his seat, his cheeks flushed pink, and his collar wet with sweat. It's comforting. Jeff's pretty sure that Toffee wants this, willingly, not just because Mike glared him down and handed him Jeff's free pass.

Still, Jeff grabs two shots from his table, straddles, backwards, the chair next to Toffee and holds one out, offering him a choice. "Shot?" He drops his voice, makes sure it's dripping with all the suave he's ever possessed, so that Toffee can't mistake this for anything except exactly what it is.

Toffee swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing slowly. He's beautiful; naive and talented and high on winning so much, so young. He reaches for the shot. "Yeah, thanks."

Jeff clanks them together, then tips his head back and downs his. His partners have always told him that his neck is one of his best features, and when he slams the glass onto the table, he catches Toffee's eyes on the curve of his collar bone, staring, lips wet and red and slightly parted.

Jeff grins. "Your place is just around the corner, yeah?"

"Uh," Toffee closes his eyes, shakes his head, then gets, shakily, to his feet. "A few blocks, yeah."

Jeff drops a surreptitious hand to the small of Toffee's back. "Lead the way."

***

Jeff slams Toffee against his bedroom door, kissing him hard, all teeth and beard and texture, and Jeff smiles into it as Toffee sighs against him, his muscles going loose and pliant. Jeff rests his weight against the wall, hand on either side of Toffee's head as he kisses his way down Toffee's neck with little, just-this-edge-of-painful nicks with his teeth. Toffee's hands flutter against Jeff's sides, unsure and tentative, and Jeff pauses, pulling just far enough away to glare at him.

"You want this, right?"

Toffee's eyes are dark and defiant, almost all pupil, even as his voice waivers. "Yes."

"Show me." It's an order, the kind Jeff knows Toffee responds to, and Toffee does, finally tightening his hands around Jeff's hips and pulling him forward, so that Jeff's right thigh is caught between Toffee's. Toffee pivots his hips, pressing the bulge of his shorts into Jeff's leg, and Jeff groans. It's more than Jeff was expecting. "Jesus, kid."

"Told you I want this." His mouth is at Jeff's collarbone, and he sucks against the skin, hard enough to leave a mark where anyone can see it. Jeff tilts his head back, giving Toffee more room to work, and he can feel the curve of Toffee's lips against his skin. "I was watching you tonight."

And, fuck, Jeff wonders, briefly, if Ritchie had planned this all night, if Ritchie's had it planned for weeks, even. But Toffee's glancing up at him, waiting, baby-faced, lips already flushed and swollen, and Jeff needs to give him something, anything. "Ritchie doesn't pick just anyone," he admits, then, because, suddenly, he realizes it's true, "and he knows exactly what I like." 

"Yeah?"

Jeff's starting to realize that, maybe, yeah, since the first game of the Chicago series, but he's not about to admit that out loud. Instead, he wraps his fingers in the material of Toffee's t-shirt and pulls it over his head, throwing it to the corner, and dropping his head to Toffee's nipple, biting, hard, and then soothing it with his tongue.

"Jesus, yes, I-" Toffee's palms are wet with sweat in his hair. "God, that feels good- I didn't know-"

Jeff makes sure that he brushes his beard against the tender mark as he moves to the other one, just enough roughness, and Toffee's whole body shivers. Jeff can feel Toffee's dick swell against him, and he tightens his thigh muscles, pressing up, and Toffee moans, his hips moving, frantically, against Jeff.

Toffee is so much energy and emotion and lust, and Jeff pinches over the bruises on Toffee's nipples as he says, voice deep and husky, "Come." Toffee shutters, his hips freezing, before pumping in long, erratic swipes against Jeff's leg.

"Shit," Toffee pants, as he thumps his head back against the door, running a hand through his hair, eyes blown. He shakes his head, his hips still moving a little, "Gross."

Jeff laughs, letting himself be pushed back. He watches as Toffee's hands go immediately to his belt, pushing his shorts to the ground and bending to grab his briefs to wipe himself clean. He's still semi-hard, and Jeff twitches in his own shorts at the sight.

"Haven't done that in a long time." Toffee shakes his head, but Jeff's pretty sure that's a lie. He remembers being 22, so quick to come, and just as quick to recover.

He doesn't mention it, though, focusing, instead, on his own spike of arousal. "Supplies?"

"Yeah." Toffee walks over to the bedside table, and Jeff watches the way his ass muscles bunch and flex as he moves. Toffee must notice, too, because he stops at the bedside table, glancing over his shoulder and blushing as he holds up the lube and a handful of condom packets. "Ritchie says you like it, um-" 

Toffee waves at his ass, then at the bed, and Jeff decides to take that to mean Jeff's in charge here, so he nods. "Start preparing yourself."

"What? Like, with my fingers?"

Jeff raises an eyebrow. "I assumed you'd fingered yourself before?" He makes it a question, just to watch the way Toffee's flush continues down his chest.

"Yes, of course I have, fuck you." Toffee kneels on the bed, catching Jeff's eyes as he squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers, before reaching behind him. "Just," Toffee admits, his legs spreading and his hips arching, a little, as he breaches his own body, "not in front of anyone."

"Mmm," Jeff hums, not taking his eyes from Toffee as he strips, slowly, folding his clothes in a semi-neat pile by the door. He spits into his palm, before wrapping his fingers around his own dick, settling a slow, steady, controlled pace.

Toffee swallows, his eyes trained on Jeff's hand, as he adds a second finger, twisting his arm and his hips into it. He grunts, with the pressure and the pleasure, his cock hard and curling against his chest, untouched as he moves, rhythmically, back against his own fingers. 

Jeff keeps them like that, eyes locked together, until Toffee adds a third finger and frowns, frustrated, his flush spreading all the way to the tops of his thighs. His chest is shining with sweat and the effort of twisting his fingers, looking for something longer, wider, less familiar.

"Carts, please, I need- More- I need- something-" He moans out, his hips twisting, thrusting against air.

Jeff takes pity on him, climbing onto the bed, settling back against the pillows and running one slow, gentling hand along the hip closest to him. "Hey, hey, it's okay, I've got you."

"Please," Toffee repeats, his voice ragged, and Jeff pulls him so that Toffee's thighs are on either side of Jeff's, facing Jeff even as his fingers twist, unsatisfying, behind him.

"Let me," Jeff murmurs, reaching for the lube and squeezing some into his hand as he joins two fingers with Toffee's in his ass and Toffee keens, pitching forward and breathing, open mouthed, against Jeff's chest. 

Jeff adjusts them, nudging Toffee's fingers away and replacing them with his own. "Come on," he urges, and Toffee complies, taking his weight on his knees and pressing back against Jeff's scissoring fingers.

After a few, long moments, Toffee shivers and reaches for the condom, opening it ungracefully with his teeth before pulling off of Jeff's fingers and shimmying down the bed, resting his weight on Jeff's knees and wrapping his fist around Jeff's cock. Jeff grunts, pressing against the mattress and into Toffee's hands. He's leaking, just a little, and Toffee licks the tip clean, before rolling the condom on. 

"Fuck, kid, come here." Jeff reaches for him, and Toffee moves up, holding himself above Jeff's hips. Jeff spreads the rest of his lube-covered fingers over his dick, then eases himself into Toffee, slowly, letting Toffee sink onto Jeff the rest of the way, setting the pace.

"Jesus Christ," Toffee grunts when he's fully seated, and Jeff's not the thickest guy, but he's pretty long, and he knows that Toffee can feel it, the stretch of muscles not often used, as he flutters around Jeff.

"So hot," Jeff tells him, because he is, and Toffee grins at him.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, just-" Jeff grips at Toffee's hips, steadying them both. "Yeah, I'm good."

Toffee grins, pressing a balancing hand against Jeff's chest as he raises himself up, and then drops down in one, quick, breathless motion that has Jeff's thighs bunching as he automatically thrusts to meet Toffee's body. It's hard, fast, a pace Jeff rarely has time or energy for anymore, but Toffee's young, his muscles barely tired even after their extended season. 

Jeff loves the way Toffee's whole body tightens as he rides Jeff, physical proof of the effort to match the proof of his arousal straining against his chest. Jeff loosens one of his hands, tracing Toffee's abs, the tops of his thighs, the unruly, untrimmed patch of hair around his dick, and Toffee arches forward, pressing the head against Jeff's forearm, desperate for more.

"Carts, fuck, come on, don't be an asshole."

Jeff slips his hand under, feeling along the smooth strip of skin before cupping Toffee's balls, rolling them between his fingers, and Toffee's rhythm stutters, his thighs bunching with effort, as he breaths out raggedly. He squeezes, internally, around Jeff, and Jeff groans, thrusting twice before forcing himself to settle back against the mattress.

"Yeah?" Jeff asks, moving up to finally wrap his hand around Toffee. "Can you come again?"

Toffee opens his eyes, dark and glistening, as he stares at Jeff. "Yes, fuck, please."

Jeff twists his fist on the upstroke, adding two, quick pumps between every long one, and Toffee shudders. His pace grows frantic, his muscles tightening around Jeff, and Jeff knows before he comes, the way Toffee's body tightens, the way he clenches, inside, and throws his head back, showing off the veins of his neck as he comes across Jeff's chest.

Toffee rests, for much less time than Jeff would, against Jeff's chest, before he lifts himself and sets the same, hard rhythm with his hips. His dick is still half-hard, softening slowly, and Jeff watches it as he wraps his hands around Toffee's hips, spreading his own knees and thrusting up to meet him, hard, feeling his orgasm start in his toes and end in his balls as he pulses into the condom, shouting into the warm, early morning air.

Toffee reaches forward for a kiss, accepting the slow, lazy, barely-moving pace Jeff sets, until Jeff softens and falls from Toffee's body. "That was good," Toffee says as he rolls off of Jeff and stretches out at his side, toes and fingers flexing. 

Jeff hums as he rolls over, just far enough to strip off the condom and drop it into the trash, and grab for his cell phone. He sets the alarm, then places it on the bedside table, and settles onto his side, throwing an arm over Toffee's hips. 

***

"You had fun," Ritchie observes, when Jeff and Toffee make it to Brownie's a little closer to 11:30 the next morning.

Jeff downs his mimosa and reaches for another one, watching Toffee across the room, laughing with Pears and Muzzy. He feels good, relaxed, energized.

"He looks like he enjoyed himself," Ritchie pushes.

"He did," Jeff agrees.

"Hmm." Ritchie's eyes are shining, the beginnings of a grin playing at his lips, and Jeff puts down his glass and motions for Ritchie to follow him into Brownie's downstairs bathroom.

As Ritchie closes the door behind them, Jeff crowds him against the sink, pressing forward for a long, warm, overdue morning kiss. "Thank you," Jeff says, sincerely, pressing his forehead into Ritchie's when they part.

Ritchie traces over the dark bruise on Jeff's collarbone and Jeff shivers under his fingers. "Was it good?" Ritchie asks.

"Perfect."

Ritchie nods, as if he knew it would be and then, reluctantly, "We should get out there, before one of Brownie's kids finds us in here."

Jeff shivers, that is not an experience he wants to repeat, and steps back. Ritchie reaches forward, adjusting Jeff's shirt so that the bruise isn't showing. Possessive asshole.

Ritchie stops, his hand on the doorknob. "Cartsy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not gonna be tired tonight."

Jeff grins and follows Ritchie out of the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you want to chat about hockey or the Kings or anything else, comment here or find me on [tumblr](http://stainyourhands.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
